Italy was indeed full of glorious and hictorically-charged streets with many a sight to enrapture and cause wonderment, but another thing one might forget would be the other aspect that would neverendingly tease the senses: smell, and there were indeed glorious smells indeed.
From freshly-baked bread be it pizza crust or loaves, wine and fruit aroma, tomato sauce or a distinctly marine breeze from fish that were always the freshest, Italy was a treasure for all senses.
To one that lived here all their life -and oh what a life it had been- and seen the darkest corners, it was debatable if such wonders had the same effect as on an awestruck first-time visitor.
Narancia was minding his own buisness as usual, going from one place to another when this stranger grabbed his attention.
Oh, he thought. A tourist.
Japanese, then. He does not happen to know any other language than Italian, and maybe some english.
Had he not been alone, he could have shoved Fugo or Buccellati at this guy. They were both far more knowledgeable in other languages. Alas, there was no such luck, however he had a rather easy way to save himself from getting into a situation he wasnât fond of, and all he had to do was to say no.
No, it is a fact. He does not speak japanese, and was about to announce as such when he finall fully turned to fully face himâŚ
âŚand then burst out into laughter. âFantastico!â He exclaimed inbetween bouts.
Because by the gods, that hair was beyond words. It was like something out of a movie, or comic book. Something so unreal and yet so perfect he could not believe he was seeing it.
Maybe someone was filming a movie nearby.Â
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